This Old Oak Tree
by MizSphinx
Summary: Hermione thinks friendship is safer. Harry does not agree. Eleven 100-word sequential drabbles.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

**This Old Oak Tree**

"An egg sandwich? For _lunch_?"

He grinned. "It's food, right? Besides, I didn't eat breakfast."

It was going to rain. The fat, slate clouds professed this as they loomed low over the park. She should leave soon if she didn't want to get caught in the rain, but she didn't want to. She smiled across at him. No, she didn't want to leave just yet.

"All the more reason you should follow Mrs. Weasley's advice, wouldn't you say?" she joked. "'Find a wife, boy. She'll cook.'"

Chuckling, he said, "Yeah? Well, I'll pick you then."

She laughed. "Ha, you wish."

**-.-.-**

"A sweetie for a sweetie."

He presented her with the lemon flavoured sweet. It was her favourite. He knew this, of course. He'd come to learn so many things about her, and she him. That was the beauty of a friendship as long and successful as theirs. He knew she chewed the corner of her bottom lip when she was stressed. She knew he fiddled with his glasses when he was angry.

She rolled her eyes as she took the sweet. "That was so unoriginal."

His smile was smug. "But it made you feel nice, didn't it?"

"No," she lied.

**-.-.-**

They saw each other nearly everyday, and on the days they did not meet, they sent each other notes through special parchments that did not need owling. Their conversations were often trivial.

_I think Malfoy dyes his hair. Probably uses hair gel, too._

_Harry, how is that any of your business?_

_I saw the bottle in his desk. I was looking for a quill…_

_Lies!_

_Ferret will always be a suspicious bloke._

_And you will always be a nosy one._

For two people who spent so much time together, they ought to have tired of each other's company.

They never did.

**-.-.-**

"OK, class, now go ahead and ask Auror Potter a few questions." She smiled encouragingly at her young charges – fifteen little witches and wizards ranging from six to seven years old.

A boy asked, "Dad says you killed You-Know-Who with a single spell. Is that true?"

He glanced at her. She nodded.

"Er…yes. That's right."

A collective sound of awe was heard.

Then, a curly-haired girl with a mischievous smile piped up. "Are you married?"

"Er…no. Not yet…"

"Then you should marry Miss Granger! She's not married either!"

Grinning, Harry glanced at a blushing Hermione then said, "I just might."

**-.-.-**

What was friendship? If tasked to answer that question, she'd say it was a non-romantic kind of love for another. But that was far too simple an answer for something so significant and fulfilling. 'No man is an island by himself,' she'd heard. Socialisation was as necessary to life as, perhaps, food and water. Granted, one could survive without it, but in what mental condition?

What was friendship? Love for another.

Therefore, by that logic: the stronger your friendship, the stronger your love, right?

Perhaps this explained her feelings for Harry.

Because to consider something else was far too terrifying.

**-.-.-**

_I should carry her in_, he thought.

She'd fallen asleep halfway through the marking of her students' homework, and her body had sunk onto his in a subconscious quest for warmth. He'd been telling her about a new case he'd received at work, and while griping that he'd been paired with that ferret – _Malfoy_ – he'd felt her head nod against his shoulder.

He lifted the arm her face leant against and curved it around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

It was one of the rare moments when he could hold her. He was unwilling to waste the opportunity.

**-.-.-**

"I saw Ron yesterday."

She stared across the table at him. They were in the park again. The table beneath an old oak tree had become 'their spot.'

"How is he?"

He shrugged and looked away.

"Seems fine. Says he misses you."

She waited for the familiar tug in her belly. Surprisingly, it did not come.

"Hmm. That's nice."

He looked at her again. The green in his eyes were brighter than usual.

"Do you miss him, too?"

The tug came but it wasn't borne from hurt and misery.

Frightened, exhilarated, she held his gaze and said:

"No, not anymore."

**-.-.-**

He had not realised how long he had wanted to kiss her until he was already doing so. Her mouth opened at the slightest askance of his tongue slipping between her lips, and then, as if death were a certainty if he disobeyed, he kissed her with all his will and his need and his desperation.

How they'd got from a conversation about turtles to kissing escaped him.

But that was inconsequential, because her hands were in his hair, and his mouth was on her neck, and her mouth was sighing his name, and…

_Gods_. He should've done this sooner.

**-.-.-**

She bit her lip. "Harry, what's your...what kind o-of women do you like?"

He gave her a strange look. Her cheeks grew pink.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious." Then: "You fancied Ginny. So, vivacious redheads?"

"Nah, I prefer brown hair. The curlier, the better."

"Really?" she squeaked.

He was smirking. "Yeah, and she should be really smart. Knows all sorts of stuff nobody else would care to learn. And really pretty. Maybe she'll be a bit bossy and stubborn, too. I also like primary school teachers…"

Her face was redder now. She refused to look at him.

"Th-that's nice."

**-.-.-**

They were kissing again, and this time they were in her flat, and this time, their clothing was being peeled off at a speed that nearly defied humanness.

She dropped to her bed and pulled him with her, on top her. His mouth found her breasts, her nails scraped against his back, their bodies rubbed and undulated against each other in a desperate need for contact.

"I love you," he said almost inaudibly into her hair as they made love for the first time. "I've always…"

She held his head and kissed him into silence.

Softly, "I love you, too."

**-.-.-**

It worried her that it would not work. They could have survived on their friendship alone. Friendship was easy and comfortable and safe. Love was not.

"No," he disagreed.

Months later, after he asked her to marry him and she accepted, it worried her that it would not work. What if they stopped loving each other?

"No," he disagreed.

Many, many years later, as she sat in their spot beneath the old oak tree and waited for her chance to see him again, she remembered his face and remembered their love, and she realised her worrying had been in vain.

**-.-.-**

**x.x end**

**AN:** Each section are 100 words long (MS Word says so, anyway). I've always wanted to write a Harry/Hermione fic. Hopefully I'll do something a lot more happier than this someday. :)


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